


Half a Century of Love

by EdmondZippo



Series: April in Paris [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Artoo & Threepio, Artoo - Freeform, Artoo is Italian American, Boys In Love, But human, C-3PO - Freeform, Cancer, Diagnosis, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Nobody is Dead, R2-D2 - Freeform, Sadness, Terminal Illnesses, Threepio - Freeform, Threepio is British, True Love, droids in love, no actual death, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdmondZippo/pseuds/EdmondZippo
Summary: Arthur and Charlie have spent forty-two years of their lives together.And then...
Relationships: C-3PO & R2-D2
Series: April in Paris [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832020
Kudos: 5





	Half a Century of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot just appeared in my head. So, I had to write it. I hope I tagged it well enough... Not that gifted in that department.  
> People say that it's better to write about what you know, or something like that. Not the case here.  
> I'm not gay, not in love, I've never known someone close who had cancer. I don't know what it's like to spend your whole life with someone and then... Yeah. Hope some of you will enjoy it.
> 
> Oh, and though it's posted as a one shot, it's part of my 'April in Paris' AU, so, you know...

**Arthur**

For the past forty-two years, I’ve woken up next to Charlie every single day. I mean, no, not every single day, but you know. Most days. I’m a lazy man, so I like to lay in bed for a bit, but Charlie, it’s as if he’s got springs up his ass. He opens his eyes, he gets up. He’s like that. And then he goes to the kitchen, and he makes so much fucking noise, but it’s my favorite noise. He makes the coffee; he makes my bacon and eggs. He’s great. We eat breakfast together, always. I listen to the radio, ‘cause I’m a man of the people, you see, but Charlie, this fucking British aristocrat, he’s a paper man. He reads the paper. I tried to make him use the tablet, but he doesn’t like it. It’s all set up perfectly, but no. Eh, nobody’s perfect. Like I said, I’m a lazy man, so I take my time before going to the shower. Charlie, he goes as soon as he’s drunk his tea and eaten his toast. I think he’s got an actual clock somewhere in him. Gotta do this, gotta do that. It’s like a fucking protocol. After that, we go walk for a bit. Our place is in the fifth _arrondissement_. It’s Charlie’s place, actually. Belongs to his family. They’re all dead, though, so… yeah. Anyway, we’re facing the _Jardin des Plantes_ , which is a pretty stupid name because what are you gonna find in a fucking _jardin_ if not plants? Anyway, we walk around for a bit, and then the rest of the day is whatever. We’re old, we’re retired, we do whatever we want. I don’t know if I like being old. I mean, it’s alright, but also, it sucks. I mean, my fucking knees…

Charlie used to be a diplomat of some sort. Worked in British embassies all over the world. We’ve seen some stuff, he and I. There were places where people like us were, uh… how do I say this? They just don’t like gay people. I used to not like gay people. Used to hate myself. My dad, he’s second generation Italian American. I mean, he was. He’s been dead for a while. My mom was Irish. So that’s a double dose of Catholic and interiorized hatred. I got six brothers and sisters. Four, now. Jesus. Ah, man. Back to the gay thing. Back home, back in Brooklyn, growing up like I did wasn’t easy. Look at me. I’m short, I got big glasses ‘cause my eyes fucking suck, I’m hairy, I got this big fucking nose: I’m not handsome. So, one, I’m ugly. Two, I’m gay. Used to be called all sorts of names, by my own father, even. Fucking bastard. Swear to God, I’m not that sad to be rid of him. My mom, though… Even though she disapproved of my very existence… I don’t know, it’s not the same.

The day I met Charlie, I was in line behind him to order a couple slices. I was starving. He spent a full fucking minute hesitating about this and that and asking the guy behind the counter all sorts of questions about ingredients and stuff.

“Come on, pal,” I said to him, “some of us are hungry, here, alright?”

And then, this motherfucker looked at me and said:

“Well, sir, I’m hungry too, but I need to know what I put in my stomach.”

And his fucking tone! Jesus! This fucking guy! He just stood there and smiled at me. Prettiest man in the world, if you ask me. Well dressed, perfumed, the whole thing. But so fucking insufferable. His smile, though. A light in the fucking darkness of my life. Me, the lowly engineer. I’m a pretty good engineer, if I may say. But back to him, and that day. Charlie saved me. I gotta be honest. He’s, uh… he’s everything to me. I don’t tell him that shit, ‘cause he’s gonna think he’s the second coming of Christ, but, yeah. He’s my man. God, feels good to say that. Anyway, we ended up eating together that day, which was a pretty fucking big surprise, and as they say, the rest is history.

**Charlie**

Arthur is a very rude man. Impressively so. The number of swear words that go through his lips on any given day is astounding. But what can I do? I fell in love with the little man when I saw him eating pizza, all those years ago. Isn’t this strange? Falling in love with the way someone eats pizza… Oh, dear.

I was based in New York, back then. New York is dirty, noisy, smelly, creepy… Dreadful place. Every winter I spent there, I feared some part of my anatomy would freeze. Fortunately for me, I was well situated. I lived in a brownstone, at the time, and although I do not wish to return to this mad city, I sometimes miss the house. It was a good house. After that, we went to numerous countries. Some he liked more than others, and so did I. When I started to get old, however I finally got Paris. They sort of owed me that, after all I did for them and international relations. There’s something about Paris that London doesn’t do quite well. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s there. There’s just something about Paris. Different manners of being rude, I suppose.

I remember when they tried to give me Moscow. I _hate_ Moscow, which is odd, since I come from disgraced and dispossessed Russian nobility, but I’ve no longing for the Motherland. My land is the proud United Kingdom. And my apartment in Paris. So, I fought them. I said no. No Moscow for me. The way they treat homosexuals is… Arthur didn’t want to go. He never said anything apart from, and I quote: “I’m not putting a fucking toe inside this fucking country”. He just couldn’t do it. Being American and gay in Russia just was something he could not do. So, I refused. I threatened to leave. Good thing I used to be invaluable. Now, I’m retired, my hair is all white, and no one cares about me except Arthur. It’s good enough for me. In my old age, I find that I need very little to be happy.

**Arthur**

We went to the doctor because Charlie’s been under the weather for a bit. I noticed it when he started staying in bed, in the morning. I didn’t say nothing, ‘cause he’s a proud fucker, but it worried me. There were times when he got winded pretty fast. Now that I look at him, I see that he’s lost weight. He’s got back pain, too. And in his legs, and in his stomach. So, we went to the doctor. The doctor made a face. I didn’t like that face. He wanted to do some analyses. At our age, we could never be too careful. The body just… I fucking hate getting old. Anyway, he did all the things, and we’ve been waiting for the results for over a week, now, and I can’t fucking take it. He’s trying to do what he’s always done, but he doesn’t have the energy, anymore. So, now, I get up when he does, and we make the breakfast together. He’s, uh… he’s walking slower. He’s making noises, like moving is hard. I don’t… Oh, man, it’s been a while, but I’m gonna pray. You, up there. If Charlie’s got something bad in him, I swear to you, you’re gonna hear from me. Signed, Arthur Dituci. Goddamn it…

**Charlie**

I have a pretty good idea of what is going with me. And I don’t like it. It first started when going to the loo was becoming strange and painful. There was a bit of blood, here and there. And things weren’t happening as well as they used to. I looked the symptoms up, of course. One needs to know. And now, I’m terrified. Arthur sees it, and he knows there’s something wrong with me, but he doesn’t say anything because… I don’t know, I guess he’s never been the kind to articulate what he feels. I always have to go and get it from him. He’s getting up when I do now… He knows. We both know. It’s uncomfortable, but acting as if nothing was wrong feels… We keep the routine going. The routine means that everything is alright.

I’ve spoken to the doctor. Privately. Can’t have Arthur hearing any of this. I told him, the doctor, not to bullshit me, as Arthur says. The rudest man in the world. The doctor, bless his soul, says that he’s not very confident that the results will come back and only indicate some minor sickness. He didn’t say the word, which only made it louder in my mind. I don’t know if I have the strength to deal with this. I’ve never been a strong man. Arthur’s the strong one. I don’t think he knows how much he’s inspired me, through the years. I depend on him entirely. I can’t conceive of my own life without him. We’ve been together longer than we’ve been apart. I was twenty-eight, when we met. And now, I’m seventy, and I might have… Oh my, I can’t even say it.

**Arthur**

We went back to see the doctor, this morning. Look, I’m not stupid, I’ve known for a while, but it’s official, now. Charlie’s got, uh... Oh, Jesus. He’s got the crab. I don’t know why, but I laughed. You know that laugh? When it means ‘okay, life, you got us good, well done, fuck you’. That laugh. I got up, started pacing like they do in the movies, with my hands on my waist. Charlie just sat there.

“So, what are we doing?” I asked the doctor.

He started saying that we could do this and that, chemo this, treatment that. I can’t. I fucking can’t. It’s not fair. It’s bullshit. I can’t deal with this, man. I’d rather be back in Brooklyn and be called a sissy, get my ass kicked and my glasses broken. That, I can take. Charlie dying? Fucking kill me. I’m outta here. I don’t wanna do any of this. I don’t wanna see over forty fucking years of my life ending like this. I don’t care. When he goes, I go. I’m not staying. What the fuck am I gonna do without him?

**Charlie**

It’s quite something to learn that your body is turning against itself. Against you. I can’t quite comprehend it. I didn’t pay attention to what was going on after I heard the word. Everything just sort of… stopped, became muted. When we left the doctor’s office, Arthur took my hand in his, which he very rarely does, and he held on to it. It hurt a bit, to be honest, but I didn’t say anything. One pain meant that I was dying, but this one meant that I was alive, that I was held, that I was loved. It’s not like I ever had any doubt, but it was reassuring to be reminded of it at that particular moment. On the way, he barely spoke, except to ask me what I wanted to eat for lunch. I told him I wanted a pizza.

**Arthur**

God knows I didn’t want to stay out. I wanted to go home and cry my fucking heart out. But I said yes. We went to a restaurant we like, he ate his pizza, and we went home. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t do nothing except be mad. I just nibbled on a slice. I don’t want to fucking watch him die. Jesus fuck. Forty years. Forty-two next month, in May.

“Charlie, let’s get married,” I told him when we got home. He looked at me like it was the best day of his life. Fucking guy’s just been told he’s got cancer, but you wouldn’t believe it if you looked at him. He smiled like a kid, and he teared up, which made me tear up, and then he said:

“Why, Arthur, I had almost given up on the notion of you proposing. I would have liked it to be a bit more romantic, but I’ll take what I can get.”

The fucking balls on this guy! I started crying for real, then. I sat on a chair and I cried. I never cry. Especially in front of him. The tough guy education never left me. You just don’t cry, you don’t complain. He cried, too, but silently, and then he started laughing, too.

“What are you laughing about?” I asked him.

“I don’t know, Arthur. We’re getting married.”

**Charlie**

I’ve never actually felt the need to get married. Being in love with Arthur and spending my days with him has always been enough. But I would be lying if I said I never though about it. I’ve spent countless hours dreaming up my wedding suit, thinking about flowers, cake, and all the other things we’d eat. I was okay with none of it ever happening. Now, though, there’s nothing I want more on this earth than to be his husband. I’ll keep my name, though. Charles Anthony Eponokine has always had that ring to it. I’m taking that name to my grave. Oh. So sorry. Too soon?

**Arthur**

Charlie and I got married pretty quickly. We called a few friends, did a little thing, and that was that. He looked great, in his suit. It was black, with golden stripes. I was not badly dressed myself. My suit was blue, a good blue, and it had white stripes. I gotta say, it was a beautiful day. When everyone left, he was exhausted, so I put him to bed, and I watched him fall asleep. He looked so peaceful. I went back to the living-room and I started crying again. I cried for an hour, I think. On my wedding day. Jesus-Christ.

At some point, he woke up and he came to get me. He looked like he had slept for a year. Looked great. He took me back to the bedroom, and we had sex. I wasn’t sure he could handle it, so I sort of protested, but he wanted it to happen. Who am I to refuse him anything? Plus, he did his diplomat thing. I gotta say, it’s pretty hot when he does that. We never had tons of sex, Charlie and me. It just wasn’t something we did a lot. Never felt like we needed it in our daily lives. I mean, sure, we do birthdays, and Christmas, and the occasional surprise, but honestly, yeah, that might be it.

**Charlie**

I wanted Arthur and I to make love because it might very well be one of the last times. Or the very last time. I wanted to feel him and him to feel me. I wanted us to be us, the two very alive people that we’ve always been. I don’t want him to shag a puking bag of bones. I still look great. So, there. Plus, it was our wedding day.

Look, I’ve got a ring on my finger. I’ve got a ring on my finger.

**Arthur**

Charlie’s chemo starts tomorrow. I don’t know how to deal with this. I love him. I love him… so much. I love him more than I love my own fucking self. Ah, shit. Crying again. I’m sorry.

**Charlie**

Whatever happens to me, I have lived a great life. I have lived my best life, and all thanks to Arthur. My husband. Delicious words, aren’t they? Yes. I regret nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is. Artoo and Threepio as people. I thought about making them just friends who've lived together for a long time. You know what? This makes me think about the movie 'Paddleton'. Mark Duplass, Ray Romano, and cancer. It's good. And on Netflix.


End file.
